


Adjusting

by My_Beating_Hart



Series: A Mahariel's Travels [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Bonding, Fluff, Gen, Gen Work, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 13:47:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2549771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Beating_Hart/pseuds/My_Beating_Hart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A brief flashback to Denerim. Who knew Morrigan really cared for the Warden to start with?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adjusting

Morrigan had kept an eye on Theron the closer they got to Denerim, knowing what to look for. Those raised in the wilds never truly were comfortable in human settlements. It became evident once they were through the city gates and in the market district proper - to her, at least.

They were in Denerim to work on some lingering jobs, tying up loose ends and seeing if someone knew of the Urn of Sacred Ashes before they set off for Orzammar. It would be a long journey ahead of them, so they were staying for longer than the usual few days.

The others didn’t seem to notice much out of the ordinary, too busy enjoying a new city after weeks camping on the road, going to the open market to replenish supplies and figuring out the cheapest rooms they could get in one of the taverns. They didn’t see the nervous glances their leader gave the buildings and people who walked too close to him as they walked along the bustling streets, or how he grew quiet to the point of becoming sullen at evening meals in one of the most well known taverns in Denerim.

“How can you three still be finding more things to buy?” Theron asked tiredly from where he leant against a wall as Leliana, Alistair and Zevran walked past once again on their way down the back alley that snaked around the Gnawed Noble tavern.

“We went to the rest of the city, and saw what else was on offer.” Leliana replied, smiling warmly at the Dalish elf until she saw his disquieted expression.

“The… Rest of the city?” The ranger repeated, ignoring the confused look he got from the three of them.

“There’s not just the market district to Denerim, Warden.” Zevran shrugged. “It is the capital, the Drakon River only cuts through it like a knife. Speaking of which, watch for cutpurses, yes?”

Theron nodded, trying to school his expression into something calmer, before one of them started asking about his obvious shock.

“Thanks.” He added quietly, watching the trio walk off through the market district and trying to ignore the way his hands were shaking at the idea the place they already had explored was not the end of Denerim.

Eventually, a week or so into their stay, Theron didn’t come to dinner one night, and was nowhere to be found in the streets around the tavern. In fact, he’d been gone for much of the day already.

“You are remarkably unconcerned as to where your Grey Warden has gone.” Morrigan pointed out once they had finished their meals, and Zevran looked up from his mead.

“Ah, Morrigan, I am sure we have been over this before.” The former Crow sighed, leaning back in his chair and radiating ease. “The Grey Warden is not mine alone. Perhaps he has decided to wander further than the market district for once? I know that he will return soon enough. He always does.”

“You have a lot of faith in him.”

“And you do not?”

“I do, but mine is not blind.” Morrigan sighed, realising it would be more fruitful if she stopped talking about the Warden and put the Gnawed Noble Tavern behind her. She would have to be the one to find the elf that bound their eclectic party together (and was also perhaps the only person competent enough to lead the fight against the darkspawn, Maker help Alistair).

Theron was nowhere to be found in the market district; with many of the stalls and shops shut for the night, that thankfully limited Morrigan’s ground to cover. Despite what Zevran had said, she highly doubted that the ranger would have gone deeper into the city, or certainly not unaccompanied. So, the witch headed for the city gates, deciding to try her luck somewhere more familiar to the wild-born two of them.

 

The moon was high in the sky; Theron had sat there watching it slowly move above the trees and shine down on him. He took a deep breath of the cold night air, free of the smell of sweat or alcohol. There was only the freshness of the earth, the dim, smoking remains of a fire he’d cooked two rabbits over, and naturally the smell of dog. Dudain had refused to stay in the tavern with the rest of the group, and truthfully the elf was glad of the company. The mabari had fallen asleep long ago, and Theron was sitting resting his back against the hound’s warm side.

Apart from the sound of the wind in the trees and Dudain’s snoring, there was the soft hush of a lazy river that was deeper than it looked. Theron had washed himself thoroughly and unflinchingly in the cold water while the sun had been up earlier, as if he was trying to scrub the feeling of Denerim out of his skin and let the currents carry it far away through the forest. Purifying himself. For the past few hours, he’d felt more relaxed than he had done ever since Alistair had reported they were three day’s travel from Denerim’s gates.

The ranger heard footsteps emerge from the trees behind him, and reached for his bow automatically.

“Stay your hand, Warden. Tis only I.”

“Morrigan.”

The witch sat down next to him uninvited, looking at the river and the way the moonlight danced over the surface of the running water.

“You have been here all day, correct?”

“Mm.” Theron huffed, sitting up properly now he had human company.

“If I were to go back to the tavern now, would you follow?”

The elf barely had to think about it; he shook his head firmly.

“I have had enough of Denerim.” He admitted, drawing a knee up to his chest.

“You have never been in a city before in your life, correct?” Morrigan asked, glancing over at last when Dudain stirred in his sleep behind them.

“You’ve been with me almost as long as Alistair, I think that should answer your question.” The Warden shot back tersely, and Morrigan could see him bristling, his shoulders tensing. Clearly the Dalish elf wanted to be left alone in the forest, and he was being so evasive and rough because he wanted her to grow annoyed and leave him be. Morrigan glanced down to check where his bow was, and then looked back at the river.

“The forest, tis beautiful at night.” She commented softly. “Better through the senses of a wolf.”

They grew quiet after that, simply listening to the forest around them. To Morrigan, it was not an uncomfortable silence. It was almost companionable to her, and it seemed to help Theron slowly relax once more. Finally, he was the one to break the silence.

“If I could, I would leave the rest of this Denerim business to the rest of the group. But I know I can’t.” Theron muttered, almost thinking aloud. Morrigan kept quiet. “The others won’t, can’t understand why I find the city so intimidating. I’ve never seen so many people and buildings in one place. I was only fine with Redcliffe because of their darkspawn problem. Here, it’s mostly sitting around and occasionally chasing information about this blasted Urn or running around for the Chantry.” The elf ran a hand through his braids, which had long since dried, but he hadn’t tied them back up yet. He looked over at Morrigan then, distractedly tugging at the end of a braid. “Besides, I can feel myself getting sick after being around all those _shemlen_. I came out here to find some elfroot, and then found the river as well, so I stayed.” He leaned over to dig around in his pack, returning with a small clump of roots that he must have washed clean in the river. Morrigan looked at them, and then up at Theron. She could make poultices just as well as he, but he had not asked her to this time. Besides, if he was becoming sick, he would know what would be best for himself.

“Shall I bring you the rest of your things from the tavern?” She asked, getting to her feet elegantly. Theron hesitated, and then stood up as well. “Zevran, perhaps?” The witch smirked. She noticed it, that flicker of an answering smirk Theron snuffed out, but naturally pretended not to.

“No, let him enjoy another warm night in the tavern if he wants. I think I’ll just need my bedroll.” The elf answered, stretching. “Let the others know I’ll be back in the morning.” He added, rubbing at his forehead, the intricate black _vallaslin_ that suited his dark skin well. Morrigan nodded, looking around the small clearing again, taking in elf, bow and dog.

“You suit the wilderness far more than Denerim anyway.”

Theron blinked, unsure if that had been an actual compliment from _Morrigan_ or not, and by the time he figured it out the witch was long gone back the way she came.

 

An hour later, slightly louder footsteps announced the presence of another, mildly inebriated elf less suited to roaming a forest at night. Theron had almost been about to fall asleep, bedroll or not, so he took a few seconds to gather his wits before he got to his feet again.

“Ah, there you are at last.” Zevran sighed in relief as he stepped into the clearing, a rolled up bedroll tucked under his arm. “I was beginning to wonder if this was Morrigan’s idea of a joke.”

Theron rolled his eyes.

“She only did that to you once, remember?” The Dalish elf replied, walking over to the other man.

“It was a memorable once.” Zevran muttered darkly to himself, eyes darting round the clearing automatically, no doubt a reflex born from years of expecting traps and ambushes to be sprung. “Ah, there is the hound. I was wondering why he was not begging Alistair or Leliana for their scraps.” He added, also noticing the embers of the fire.

Theron snorted, going back over to the fire and beginning to stir it back to life as Zevran set out the bedroll close by.

“And you didn’t notice that I had been gone from your side all day?” He questioned teasingly, already starting to relax.

“I knew you would return in your own time. Morrigan said that my faith in you was blind, however.”

“It’s better than no faith at all.” Theron commented, throwing sticks onto the glowing embers and watching a few small flames spring to life.

“Naturally.” Zevran nodded, sitting down cross-legged on the end of the bedroll and patting the space next to him invitingly. “We will not be staying in Denerim for much longer. Sten and Alistair will be busy in the back streets for the Chanter’s Board, and Leliana will be tracking down something. An instrument, or perhaps a lost old man, I was not listening and it does not matter.” He explained with an airy wave of his hand as Theron finished building the fire back up to a warm glow and sat down next to him.

“Thank you.” Theron murmured, leaning over to rest his head against the other elf’s shoulder. “I’m just amazed you actually came all the way out here just for me.” He admitted.

“What is one more night sleeping under the stars rather than in a tavern, _mi amor_? Besides, this time we are alone out here in the forest, with no-one and nothing around to hear us…” Zevran hinted, resting a hand on the ranger’s thigh.

“Apart from Dudain.” Theron pointed out, lifting his head up to smirk at the former Crow.

“ _Braksa_.”

“Not necessarily, _lath_.”

**Author's Note:**

> I believe the correct way to end that would have been something along the lines of, "And then they banged." Maybe another day. But seriously, I was of half a mind not to include the final section with Zevran so Morrigan could have the spotlight, but it grew big enough that I decided to leave it in.
> 
> Elven translations  
> Shemlen = humans  
> Braksa = Doesn't seem to have a direct translation, but is possibly the equivalent of 'damn' or 'crap'


End file.
